<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Under an Empty Amber Sky by manaketefirestone</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525488">Under an Empty Amber Sky</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/manaketefirestone/pseuds/manaketefirestone'>manaketefirestone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Cover Art, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Era, NSFW, Near Death Experiences, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Zombie Apocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:00:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/manaketefirestone/pseuds/manaketefirestone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate-universe modern Fódlan, two centuries have passed since a wicked plague devastated the population of the planet, bringing chaos and the undead with it. Now humanity relies on the protection of the Marked, people gifted immunity and strange powers, in order to survive in this bloody and unforgiving world. After a brush with death, Sylvain finds himself the newest member of a hunting party known as the Blue Lions. While he struggles to come to terms with his past and his own self-loathing, a certain hot-blooded mercenary has his eye on him. What that means for them both is something only time will tell.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Amber Sky (Artwork)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Welcome to Under an Empty Amber Sky. Please check out my <a href="https://manaketefirestone.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> for updates, FAQ, and links to my other work!</p><p>
  <em>edited on 01/13/2021 because the link to the image was broken</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. When the Fox Met the Hound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Felix stumbles upon Sylvain in the midst of a crisis.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the last two centuries, the people of Fodlan knew only three seasons, and it was those seasons that shaped their everyday fight for survival on an unforgiving battleground. The calendar year had been lost long ago in a blaze of war and the memories of the dead. The plague had changed the course of human history, and nothing was ever the same afterwards. </p><p>First there was the bloom of Crimson Flower. It was the safest time of the year for human life, the crops were bountiful, and the sunshine kept the nightbound at bay. The small white flowers that bud in the ashen meadows and plains were a reminder to humanity of how vastly life can change in order to survive - amply named Despair Lilies.  Children and couples would often give them to each other as a sign of trust: a promise that the other would come home that night and live to pick flowers again.</p><p>When the sunshine started to dim and the leaves began to wither off the branches, the people would rush to harvest what was left of their bounties and return to the safety of their hobbles and fortresses. Rain was plentiful in this season; it was common for people to leave out bowls and water jugs during a storm. After all, everyone knows that the only safe water falls directly from the eyes of the goddess. This was known as the season of Verdant Wind. Although the sun was visible through the clouds, the days were shorter, and the plague would often find its way into the homes of people who weren’t careful. Laughter of children in fortified cities and wayward clans would dwindle as the first chills pricked their skin, for even the youngest of Fodlan’s citizens knew of the coming danger.</p><p>Azure Moon was the season of the nightbound, a season that left humanity scrambling to survive whenever it bared its icy fangs. There were only two hours of daylight in this season, a precious two hours that allowed people to leave their homes for supplies or whatever else they may need before it became hunting hours once again. Pity on the foolish girl who spends a bit too much time by the river in Azure Moon, if she doesn’t turn herself then surely a beast will paint the snow with her blood.</p><p>The year is 2268. Two hundred years ago, a town whose name has been lost to history vanished overnight. The government sent an investigation team, they were greeted by a large black beast and a hoard of the undead; there were no survivors. It was a swift downhill from there, the plague quickly spread to other cities and towns, tearing apart families and destroying entire ecosystems. Despite the best efforts of humanity, soon the entire planet was covered in a dense black fog. Scientists at the time could not come to a consensus on the origin of the plague, nor the beasts and fog. Religious zealots took this as their chance to convert people in fear of the looming apocalypse. Suddenly countries that had been almost entirely atheist were clawing at the church doors; not that praying would save them in the end anyways.</p><p>Millions of people died over the next 50 years, humanity slowly adjusting to the new weather patterns and dangers. The population took a huge hit, going from an estimated 8 billion people to 2 billion seemingly overnight. The best efforts of science and government aid ultimately proved fruitless. The entire world went into a state of martial law. However, humanity's most treasured gift is its ability to survive, despite what the world throws at it - and so people did just that. Slowly, the survivors began to come together and create new civilizations, with assistance from a mysterious new group that began to rise to power. They called themselves the “Abyssal”.</p><p>The Abyssal claimed to know the truth about the plague, and to have a cure for it. All they asked in return was that each remaining facet of humanity offer up the soul of their strongest warrior. Now, this was a bargain that in a more civilized time would have been ignored, if not outright laughed at. However, in a time where science has failed its people, humanity was desperate for any form of salvation they could muster.</p><p>Hundreds of young men and women made their way to the Abyssal Chapel, in the hope that their sacrifice would save the people they loved. Of the hundreds that entered, when the sun rose the next morning, less than 80 remained. They stood silent and motionless behind the shrouded abyssal priests, who gave a rousing speech declaring the ceremony a success. Those who returned to their towns were reportedly never the same again. Nobody knows what took place within the chapel walls that day. The public was strictly forbidden from entering, and those that survived the Chapel were forbidden from revealing what they had seen...</p><p>That day a new species of human was created. The Marked.</p><p>The mark emerges on the skin of its bearer in early adolescence. Their sense of taste is dulled and they are almost entirely colorblind. They are as strong as two unmarked people put together, and occasionally will manifest strange and unorthodox abilities. You might call it magic, if you believe in such things. But most importantly, the Marked are immune to the plague. They soon became warriors for humanity, often treated more as tools than people.</p><hr/><p>It was on a rainy day in Verdant Wind when Sylvain became painfully aware of what being a Marked entailed. The barrel of his shotgun pressed against his throat; his hands quivered as he swallowed against the cold steel. Slumped against the bumper of a rusted truck in an abandoned barn, tears poured from his squinted eyes and across his clenched teeth. The smell of dust and dirt wrinkled his nose as he braced himself. His twitching fingers danced along the edge of the trigger. The rainwater had surely washed the blood from his clothes and skin, but Sylvain was terrified that if he opened his eyes it would still be there. He was sure that it would always be there, until one day he would drown. So, he made the choice to die today, in a way that he thought was less painful.</p><p>He’d always been so confident, so foolishly grasping for happiness, living every day without worrying about what tomorrow might bring. A death sentence in an unforgiving world such as this. Today was the day that bell would finally ring.</p><p>Choking back tears, he started to laugh.</p><p>
  <em> What a waste of life, how fucking stupid am I? Why did I think I could just keep walking forward, and that eventually I would find a purpose? Why did I try so hard, just to end up here, covered in your blood? </em>
</p><p>The howls and groans start to grow louder, and Sylvain knows that if he doesn’t pull the trigger now, the beasts will find him instead. He takes a deep breath and steadies his hand. The shotgun clicks, chamber ready.</p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry, Miklan. </em>
</p><p>Suddenly, a commotion outside. He hears gunfire, people shouting, the plaguebeasts screaming. A few moments later, all is silent. Then a voice speaks up.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>Sylvain opens his eyes just in time to see a messy dark-haired man, with a shockingly feminine face for such a well-built frame, kick his shotgun out of his grasp and grip him by the collar. A thick bear-skin hide is draped from his leather armor, Sylvain is sure he’s never met this guy before, he would remember a face like that.</p><p>“So, when shit gets hard, you’re just going to throw away your life?”</p><p>He waits for a response, searching Sylvain’s eyes for any sign of life. When he gets nothing, he makes an irritated grumble and pulls the auburn-haired man’s pathetic body off the ground and tosses him to the side. Sylvain winces in pain as he feels his open wounds absorb the shock.</p><p>“Fine, you want to fucking die so bad, here.”</p><p>Sylvain hears a sliding noise and pulls himself to a sitting position, using the barn wall for support, and nurses his left arm which is certainly broken. He looks down and sees his shotgun covered in mud. He looks back up at the bristling man with confusion.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>The man rolls his eyes and leans against a wooden post. He kicks a stray can in Sylvain’s direction.</p><p>“Well, are you going to do it or not? I don’t have all day.”</p><p>Sylvain looks down at his shotgun, and the overwhelming sense of despair he was feeling only moments ago is drowned out by a sudden rage.</p><p>“What’s your fucking problem, rat-tail. Don’t you have something better to do than harassing me? Wasn’t that your men out there fighting off the plaguebeasts? Maybe you should worry about them first.” Sylvain snaps.</p><p>The man’s eyes squint irritably, and he grits his teeth. “That’s exactly why I came in here, dumbass. We could all hear your ridiculous laughter from outside, I came in to investigate and found you sniveling on the ground like a little bitch.” </p><p>He spits at the ground. “Obviously, this was a waste of my time.” He shrugs and turns to leave. “Have fun killing yourself.” He pauses at the barn door. As he turns his face back to Sylvain, the rising sunlight bounces off his features with an ethereal glow. They stare at each other for a few moments, and then the man huffs and slams the door behind him.</p><p>
  <em> What the fuck just happened?</em>
</p><p>Any remaining strength in Sylvain’s body is beginning to falter. As he drifts in and out of consciousness, his last thoughts are about the mysterious man who just saved his life.</p><hr/><p>When Sylvain wakes up, he finds himself laying on a cot in a dimly lit room. He tries to move and feels rope scratching against his ankles, tightly binding them in place. Immediately he can’t help but notice the strange, sweet smell lofting through the room. Still half conscious, he grumbles and tries to sit up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the darkness. The pain hits him all at once and he falls to the ground screaming.</p><p>“Oh my, that’s no good. You’ll irritate your stitches.”</p><p>A woman’s gentle voice rushes to his side, carefully placing a lit candle by his bedside. She ignores his pained babble with composure, pulling his healthy arm across her shoulders and assisting him back to the cot. As he lays back down the light flickers over her features, her long nose and lidded eyes conveying a simple beauty that makes him feel safe. She’s wearing what appears to be some sort of long navy cloak, with the typical makeshift leather plating over her blouse and pants worn by most common folk.. His broken arm begins to throb, wincing he glances down and notices that it’s been wrapped tightly in cloth and fastened to a piece of bark. He inhales sharply through his teeth and tries to relax his body.</p><p>“Where am I?” He says softly, his amber eyes locked on her with confusion. She picks the lit candle off the floor and places it on a small table that, now with eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, Sylvain see’s is littered with medical supplies. A dozen or so bloody pieces of cloth lay haphazardly next to scissors, thread, and a bottle of alcohol. Next to the alcohol lies a bowl of mysterious herbs, most likely the source of the pleasant aroma still wafting through the room. Without thinking, Sylvain raises his free arm to his face to brush  hair out of his eyes. Immediately, his muscles tense up and he lets out a low moan.</p><p>“You’re in the Lion’s den, my dear. You should really stop moving so much if you ever want that arm of yours to heal properly,” she says with a cheery tone. Sylvain examines himself and counts at least three or four lines of stitches that he can see without moving too much, crusted over with blood and inflamed. She walks over to him holding a wet cloth, draping it over his forehead and pushing him lightly back onto the pillow.</p><p>“If you catch a fever it’ll cause trouble, please just stay there and rest. You’re safe here,” she smiles, dabbing the cloth across his forehead. Her thumb brushes across his nose and he notices that her delicate hands are warm to the touch, like a fireplace beckoning him to sleep. He’s almost sad when she pulls away, returning to the table and sitting down in a chair. She begins flipping through an old book, covered in dust with cracks in the binding.</p><p><em> The Lions den? </em> </p><p>He asks himself, relaxing into the cot with eyes transfixed on the ceiling - or what’s left of it. It seems to have once been arranged in some sort of interlocking grid pattern, but now only the metal remains. He can see straight up into the high rafters of the building, and even a little bit of the night sky that peaks through the cracks in the aged rood.</p><p>
  <em> If it’s nighttime, that must mean I slept for a whole day. </em>
</p><p>As his mind wanders a wave of memories crashes over him, his eyes widen, and his skin goes pale. His breathing begins to quicken as he glances down at his wounds. Now he remembers how he got them.</p><p>“Miklan!” Sylvain shouts, he attempts to pull himself out of bed, but is immediately paralyzed by rippling shocks of pain throughout his entire body. The woman rushes back over, and kneeling by his bedside gently squeezes his hand coaxing him back into the embrace of the pillow.</p><p>“Miklan…” Sylvain repeats softer this time, turning his head away from the woman’s calm gaze as tears begin to well in his eyes. He grits his teeth and squeezes her hand back, perhaps a bit too hard, but she doesn’t seem to mind.</p><p>“That’s the name you were repeating while you were still asleep, did something happen?” Her words bring Sylvain back to those final moments, the pleading look in his brother’s eyes and the endless blood seeping from the gaping wound in his stomach. The disgusting, sickly sweet smell of iron and decomposition. His vision goes white, and he falls apart into deep, guttural sobs.The woman stays by his side, squeezing his hand and catching the tears that fall with a handkerchief. He cries, screams, and curses until his throat is sore and the tears don’t come anymore.</p><hr/><p>Outside the door, a dark-haired man leans against a wall and listens, his brows furrowed, his arms crossed. Lost in thought, his usual stoic expression falters but he quickly shakes it off with an annoyed sigh. Another man approaches from around the corner, a taller, burly man with wild blonde hair and a dangerous look in his eyes. He pauses in front of the dark-haired man and gestures for him to follow.</p><p>“Felix. Come. We have blood to spill. The others are already waiting.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright.” Felix glances back at the door with narrowed eyes, and then follows the larger man down the hallway and outside under the waning moon. They are welcomed by the distant howls of beasts and moans of the undead. Slinging his machine gun off his back, he loads the magazine with ammo. “I wonder if tonight’s hunt will end in another one of your rampages, wild boar”</p><p>The blonde briefly looks in his direction but gives no response. He swings his giant axe over his shoulder and heads silently into the forest. Felix wonders to himself how long the new guy will last as he follows from behind. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Things are going to be escalating very quickly from this point forward in terms of violence- and angst.</p><p>If you like this fanfic and you want to stay updated, please consider following/checking out my <a href="https://manaketefirestone.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>. I post updates about my writing, artwork, and potential future projects. Please feel free to make comments, suggestions, or share your thoughts!</p><p>Thank you for reading!<br/>-Manakete 🐉🔥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. No Longer Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Felix is antagonized by friend and foe, Sylvain explores his new living arrangements.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Felix is expressionless as he hears the familiar <em> shlick </em> of his machete sliding through human flesh, the soleless eyes of what was once a young woman blinking slowly up at him. Its pale hands claw pointlessly at the air as it’s lower jaw is bisected from the rest of its face. Its body collapses with a soft thump, black blood oozing into the forest floor. Writhing on the ground silently, it palms its mangled face with confusion and slathers itself in plague. Approaching the twitching corpse, Felix sheathes his machete and puts a bullet in the creature’s skull. It stops moving.</p><p>Felix turns and is immediately hit with the weight of another shambler barreling into him, knocking him to the ground as it tries to tear into his neck with rotting teeth. He uses the barrel of the gun to push away its face, and kicks it hard in the lower leg, shifting both their weights so that he tumbles on top of it. Dirt and grass explodes from the ground and clouds his vision as he participates in the world’s worst wrestling match. Now with the upper hand, he brings his armored fist down onto its skull and is rewarded with a sickening crunch, plague blood exploding onto his face and torso. He pulls himself to his feet and wipes his face with his fur coat.</p><p>Before he can react, a flash of black fur and red eyes tackles him to the ground, snarling viciously. Its putrid breath is inches from his face, drool hitting his nose as it leans down to tear his throat out. He reaches for his machete in a last stitch effort to ensure that if this is the end, this thing goes down with him. The beast’s eyes go wide as Felix hears a single gunshot, its ears fold as it collapses on top of him with a sharp whine.</p><p>“Get this thing the fuck off of me!” Felix grumbles, pushing the dead creature off his body and catching his breath. He looks up the hill and locks eyes with one of his companions who waves playfully at Felix, the barrel of his sniper rifle still smoking . The boy pushes a tuft of gray hair out of his eyes as he makes his way down the hill to Felix, offering a hand up. Felix stares at him for a moment and considers ignoring the gesture, but reluctantly grabs the boy’s freckled hand with a flat “Thanks.”</p><p>“You’ve got to be more careful Felix, what if I wasn’t there to save you?” He looks genuinely concerned, but having known Ashe for some time Felix recognizes the hint of a taunt in his voice.</p><p>“Oh please, I’d like to see you take down two shamblers in melee combat back to back, not to mention my knee is still busted from the other day. You got a lucky shot.”  Felix gestures to the bandages on his left leg, rolling his eyes at Ashe’s amused smirk. He adjusts his gear and trudges forward, so he doesn’t have to look at him anymore. Ashe follows closely behind, shifting his bag onto his shoulders and carrying the sniper rifle in his arms as they enter the forest clearing.</p><p>“Do I already need to remind you that that “lucky shot” totally saved your life?” He laughs, dimples forming on his flushed speckled skin. Felix glances at him over his shoulder, his eyes like daggers.</p><p>Before he can make a snappy comment, his ears perk up at the sound of something moving through the brush. He puts an arm out and stops Ashe from moving any further, pressing his finger to his lips in a silent <em> hush </em>. Both of the boys turn their backs to each other and lift their guns, ready to shoot at whatever might be lurking just feet away in the emerald leaves and tangled trees. Then a voice rings out and breaks the chilling silence.</p><p>“Weapons down, unless you want to lose your life.”</p><p>Dimitri emerges from behind a pine, his impressive armor painted black with plague blood, dragging his axe behind him. He is followed closely by Dedue and Ingrid, who appear from the shadows equally blood-soaked. Their bodies relax as they recognize their fellow Blue Lions. Ashe quickly lowers his weapon letting it fall to his hip and rushing forward to chat with their newly arrived companions. Felix sighs and leans against a tree, glancing at Dimitri who is already on his way over to him, pushing past Ashe’s warm gaze emotionlessly. Ashe looks dejected but focuses on Dedue and Ingrid as they start a warm but still cautious conversation, constantly looking over their shoulders for any sign of danger.</p><p>Felix shifts uncomfortably as Dimitri’s empty gaze bores deep into his skull. How long had it been now, he wondered, since Dimitri had lost his soul? If he were being honest, Felix had reached a point where he no longer remembered the blonde man’s smile. As difficult as it was for Felix to let people into his heart, there was a time he would have considered Dimitri his friend. Unfortunately, that bright, bold, charismatic man he had known for years was dead now. Haunting the halls of old companion’s skin was a dark and twisted force of raw power that hungered for revenge and would not think twice about snapping the neck of anyone who might stand in his way.</p><p>“Felix.” Dimitri started, “I ordered you not to go off on your own like that, why did you disobey me?” His shadow engulfs Felix as he questions him, the raven-haired man bristling with annoyance but also, fear.</p><p>“I don’t remember agreeing to let you order me around, I’m not your fucking dog.” Felix snorts sarcastically, being all too aware of the uncomfortably small distance between him and that horrifying battle axe.</p><p>“No, you are not a dog, for at least a dog would have the sense not to bite the hand that feeds him. I don’t know why I expected anything else from you, but you’re only useful to me while you’re still breathing. Do not make me remind you, I won’t let anyone stand in my way. If you don’t want to be a dog, then obey my orders or you’ll die like a dog right here, on the ground in a bloody heap.”</p><p>Dimitri pauses, and when Felix doesn’t respond he finally breaks the unblinking glare between them and turns, sauntering away to rejoin the group. Felix’s grip on his gun tightens, inhaling angrily through gritted teeth.</p><p>
  <em> Wild Boar… if this path you have chosen for yourself doesn’t kill you, then I hope I get the chance to do it myself. </em>
</p><p>Dimitri addresses the group. “Dedue, Ingrid and I have cleared out a nest nearby. It seems like the majority of these shamblers are old, this territory has been claimed by the darkness for some time. While their numbers over time have multiplied, they have also grown weaker individually as their corpses decay. This is good news; over the next few days we will search the forest for survivors and swiftly put an end to them. If by chance we miss one or two, the frosts of Azure Moon should take care of them for us. The closest stronghold is hours away from here, civilian casualties should not be a problem, and more importantly they won’t be able to turn anyone else.”</p><p>He pauses, knowing he still has their rapt attention. “Now, does anyone have any additional information to share with me? Ashe, did you find any traces of plaguebeasts on your scouting mission?”</p><p>“I took down a plague wolf just down the hill near the rockface, it was alone at the time, but I’m sure there must be a few more based on the howling we heard earlier.” Felix makes eye contact with Ashe in a silent thank you for leaving his name out of it, there was no reason Dimitri had to know about that incident.</p><p>“If there are multiple plaguebeasts,” Ingrid chimes in, “then there may be a Forlorn nearby.” She pushes a loose strand of long blonde hair off her shoulders and adjusts her grip on her shotgun.</p><p>“Yes.” Dimitri replies, “Ingrid is probably right. If that is the case, then the coming frost won't solve our problems entirely. Which means we will finally have an interesting hunt on our hands, it’s been nothing but shamblers for moons since we’ve been traveling through this iron district.” A sadistic gleam passes over his eyes as he considers the possibilities. “I can’t wait to cut something open that fights back hard enough for me to notice.”</p><p>“Captain if it is your will, I shall secure the area and attempt to determine the location of the Forlorn.” Dedue says dutifully, stepping forward and lowering his scarred face in a slight bow.</p><p>“Securing the area will do for now Dedue, when we return to base I’ll have Annette do some scrying, she should be able to find the beast without potentially wasting bullets.” Dedue nods. Dimitri turns from the group, long fur cape billowing over his shoulders in the wind as he trudges deeper into the forest, Dedue following close behind.</p><p>Ashe watches them both go with a sullen expression. He waves to Ingrid, who has already begun to gather wood for a fire, and heads in Felix’s direction. Once he’s within range, Felix starts to say something, but Ashe cuts him off.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. He doesn’t need to know.” Ashe smiles gingerly as Felix scoffs, looking away from the lanky boy. Ashe gestures to Ingrid as he continues, “why don’t we both help her set up camp?” Felix pauses for a moment.</p><p>“Fine.” He agrees reluctantly, and together they walk over to Ingrid. She immediately assigns them camp duties, glancing sympathetically at Felix who is obviously still bristling from his confrontation with Dimitri. She is not the type to say anything outright, and Felix is grateful for that</p>
<hr/><p>When Sylvain’s eyes flutter open again, this time he recognizes his surroundings. The morning air wafts through one of the broken windows, and the strong scent of pollen festers in his nostrils. He removes the flimsy sheet and swings his legs to sit on the edge of the bed, his aching body pulsing with discomfort. He assesses himself, eyeing the dainty stitch work of the woman he spoke to last night. At least, he’s pretty sure that was last night? There is no easy way to tell without asking.</p><p>His injuries are still a bit swollen, but the redness has gone down by quite a bit. Nursing his arm, which is still tightly wrapped and bound, he brings himself to his feet and hobbles to the door. He pokes his head around the corridor and sees a long hallway lined on either side with lockers. He turns his head the opposite direction and is met with a wall, a large brown bulletin board hangs squarely in the center. Upon closer inspection, multiple colorful tacks are arranged into what appears to be a smiley face. He stifles a laugh and braces himself against the wall as he makes his way down the hallway.</p><p>The ground is littered with decaying paper and debris. Large portions of  the walls and floor are covered with dark brown stains that Sylvain can only assume to be old blood. Looking up he notices more of the empty metal frames he can only assume once held parts of the ceiling, same as those he saw above him in the previous room. He presses forward, stumbling his way down the hallway until he reaches a portion with multiple doorways. One appears to lead outside, another opens into a hallway, and a third into a new room. The placard above the third door reads “Main Office”. Glancing briefly through the windows on either side of the door, looking into the room he can see that it is being used as a supply room. There are multiple overturned desks and cabinets, as well as backpacks, blankets, clothing, armor, ammunition, and weapons piled throughout.</p><p>His survey is broken suddenly by the sound of voices coming from the unexplored hallway. It is at this moment he realizes he has no idea where his shotgun is. <em> Oh well </em> , he thinks to himself, <em> I will look for it later </em>. He grabs a pistol from the stockpile just in case, and carefully limps towards the sound. This hallway has multiple doors, far more than the previous. The doorways are labeled with gradually increasing numbers, with the far end of the hallway being labelled as “Library”. As he grows closer to the double doors, he is able to eavesdrop on a bit of the conversation.</p><p>It sounds like two women, one of whom has a calm and pleasant tone. He immediately recognizes her as the woman who looked after him the other night. He puts the pistol away, tucking it in the hem of his pants.</p><p>“Oh Annie, I almost forgot to mention, I found a book that I thought you might find interesting in one of the cabinet’s in the medical room. Here, consider it repayment for those herbs you foraged for me the other day.”</p><p>“Mercie, you know I would never ask you to pay me back for that, but thank you! Alright book, what secrets will you reveal to me today?”</p><p>“Does pressing your nose into the paper like that help you read faster?”</p><p>“Don’t knock it until you try it! Oh- Oh wow!”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I can’t believe you found this just lying around here!”</p><p>“Annie, your excitement is very adorable, but what’s it about?”</p><p>“It’s called <strong>Norwegian Wood</strong> ; it’s written by a very famous author from all the way back in the 21st century! I have found and read some of their other works, but I didn’t think I could get my hands on a copy of this one! It is a tragic romance novel about- Mercie did you hear that? I think there’s something in the hallway.”</p><p>
  <em> Shit </em>
</p><p>Sylvain had been so focused on listening in on their conversation that he had accidentally smacked his foot into some rubble. There is no use in hiding his presence any longer. He’s pretty sure that if they are holding him prisoner he would have been tied to the bedpost. He opens the door, leaning sheepishly inside ready to apologize for his intrusion.</p><p>“Hi, I’m really sorry I just woke up and-“</p><p>There’s a loud piercing scream and a heavy <em> thump </em>as Annette brings a staff down on the top of his head. He staggers dazed for a few moments before catching himself on the wall. Looking up, he saw a fiery red-haired woman holding her staff defensively, her determined eyes locked onto him. He rubbed his sore head soothingly.</p><p>“Ow, what the hell was that for?!” He asked, pointing his finger accusingly.</p><p>“What on earth are you doing awake?” The woman who had been looking after him replied, her eyes wide with surprise. “I gave you enough sleeping sage to keep you unconscious for at least another full day!” Her eyes are nervously searching his freshly closed wounds for tearing, and it is at this point Sylvain realizes he is only wearing his underclothes, naked from the waist up.</p><p>“Why are you dressed like that you pervert?! Mercie don’t tell me this is the new recruit!!” Annette screams accusingly, brandishing her staff like she’s going to bring it down on top of his head again at any second.</p><p>Sylvain’s face goes red with embarrassment, he had so many things on his mind he didn’t even realize he was shirtless. Way to make a first impression, if they weren’t keeping him prisoner here before they certainly might now.</p><p>“At least it’s a good view, right? W-wait, please don’t hit me with that thing again! Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, um, I’m Sylvain. Sylvain Gautier. Thank you for taking care of me, if it wasn’t for you I don’t think I’d be standing here right now. Although, it doesn’t look like I’m exactly welcome at the moment anyways. I’ll come back later.”</p><p>Sylvain awkwardly ducks his head back out the door and brings his hands to his face in shame. Back in the village he was always so smooth with the ladies, what the hell has gotten into him?</p><p>
  <em> It’s definitely that fox-looking motherfucker’s fault, if only he’d just let me die. </em>
</p><p>The painful memories from that night re-play in his head over and over again as he starts to head back down the hallway. He just wanted to forget any of this happened, he just wanted to-</p><p>“Are you okay? I’m sorry I hit you with my staff.”</p><p>Sylvain takes his hands off his face and looks down at Annette, who is peering at his distraught face with curiosity. She smiles sympathetically at him, and he feels his clouded mind come to a standstill, even for just a moment.</p><p>“It’s fine, I probably deserved that.” He shrugs, giving her a classic Sylvain smile that the girls back home used to fall over themselves for. He feels the confidence build in his chest when he notices a slight blush fall on her cheeks.</p><p>“Well, don’t make a habit of it! I won’t hesitate to do it again if I feel like I need to! Anyways, I’m Annette, but you can call me Annie if you want. I heard you were in pretty terrible condition when Felix found you, I’m glad to see you can walk around now, even if you came stumbling into our conversation dressed like that.”</p><p>
  <em> So, his name is Felix, how boring. </em>
</p><p>“For such a pretty girl you sure have a mouth on you, I can tell we’ll get along just fine. I’ll try my best to stay out of your swinging range.” He laughs, extending his hand to her. She pouts a bit at his choice of words, but she takes it and shakes it politely. She turns away from him and gestures to the other woman.</p><p>“This is Mercedes. She is our medic, and she’s my best friend. Don’t you try anything with her, I can already see that look in your eye.” She looks at him challengingly, her hands on her hips. Her eyes relax as Mercedes puts a hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t worry Annie, I can take care of myself.” Annette blushes softly, looking away but letting her move past. “I must say, I was surprised to see you up and moving. You must have a higher tolerance for herbal remedies than most. Not any trouble, as long as you do not overexert yourself. Some of those wounds were pretty deep.” She takes a few steps forward, her focus on his stitching and broken arm. “Do you mind if I take a look?”</p><p>“Go ahead, please be gentle with me doc.” Sylvain says coyly, winking as she puts her chill hand on his forearm tenderly. A few moments pass, Sylvain looking at her focused expression a bit perplexed. Suddenly, a warmth emits from her fingertips, tingling its way throughout his whole body. The sensation is like being gently embraced by a cozy blanket, and a sense of security and peace passes over him. She removes her hand, and immediately the feeling is gone and replaced by the consistent dull pain of his aching body that he had grown used to. He shudders at the sudden loss of momentary bliss.</p><p>“It looks like your internal wounds are beginning to close on their own as well. Of course, I can’t recommend enough that you restrict your movement for at least a few more days, you aren’t Dimitri. Not that he would listen either way. However, it appears you’ll be making a full recovery a lot faster than I initially expected.” She smiles, folding her hands together thoughtfully.</p><p>“What- what was that?” Sylvain asks, looking at his forearm curiously.</p><p>“It’s her gift.” Annette pipes up, speaking excitedly over Mercedes’ shoulder. “When she touches someone, their pain ‘speaks’ to her. It’s why she always knows exactly what to do when one of us is injured. Isn’t it wonderful?”</p><p>“Annie, it’s not quite as simple as you describe, but yes, that’s the gist of it. Sorry Sylvain, perhaps I should have asked for your consent before doing that. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know how some feel about the Marked.” She looks off a bit sadly, but quickly regains her composure.</p><p>“You’re marked?” Sylvain questions, taken a bit aback by their upfront honesty. Where he was from, being marked was not usually something people talked about so openly. Not unless they wanted to be ostracized, or worse. A reality that Sylvain knows far too well.</p><p>“Yes, actually we all are.” Mercedes continues, “The Blue Lions are one of if not the last plaguehunter guild in all of Fodlan. With the way things are going, I fear we may truly be the last.” She looks woefully at Annette, who grips her hand supportively.</p><p>“I’ve never met another Marked before.” Sylvain says, still reeling from the shock of this reveal. For the most part, people had stopped breeding for marks long ago, as the plague had become more manageable over time with the re-discovery of some pre-calamity technology.</p><p>More of society is drifting away from the marked, seeing them as unnecessary monstrous relics of the past. When someone is born marked, they are usually looked at with pity at the very best, and contempt at worst.</p><p>“Well,” Annette says pointedly, “you’re going to be living with seven of them until Dimitri says otherwise, so you better get used to it. It might be a nice change of pace, to be around other Marked!”</p><p>“Y-yeah.” Sylvain says, a bit lost in thought.</p><p>
  <em> Would things have been different if I had been raised around other Marked? </em>
</p><p>The two women smile at him reassuringly. Annette rests both arms on her staff. “I guess we’d better give you a tour of our current home base, it’s not much but you’ll need to know your way around here. At least until we have to move out of the iron district.” Sylvain nods and follows the two women around. </p><p>Annette explains the purpose of each room or who it belongs to; this closet over here is where they store extra food, this staircase leads to the second floor but it’s barred off because it’s almost completely destroyed up there, (“like, so destroyed it’s basically a roof at this point” Annette added with a dramatic flair) and finally a closer look at the mostly barren library, which Annette gushes about with stars in her eyes until Mercedes hurries them along. </p><p>They bring him down a separate hallway that branches near the Library, which Annette announces as the sleeping quarters. The Blue Lions are working with what they have, and he has seen worse living arrangements. Sylvain made note of the uncomfortable aura radiating from the person she calls Dimitri’s room, but overall, he was mostly just having fun listening to Annette raddle on while Mercedes smiles encouragingly.</p><p>Then they are standing in front of a room with a placard that read 105. It looks mostly empty, save the various linens that are being used as a “frame” for his bedroll. There is a small painting propped against the wall, alongside a few empty cans of food and some animal bones. On an overturned desk there are a few discarded bandages, and a bottle containing some sort of brown liquid, Sylvain guesses alcohol. Considering it was not originally intended as a bedroom, and there is still plenty of rubble and broken wood shoved into the corner that made this pretty obvious, it is relatively neat. This is Felix’s room.</p><p>“So, my room is 106 and Mercedes is 107, and I guess we’ll be clearing out 108 for you to stay in! Unless you prefer the medical room. Your choice! That basically concludes our tour, please look to the notice board down the hallway for any updates.” Annette grinned, looking pretty proud of herself for her informative guided tour. She fishes through her bag and pulls out the book from earlier, tucking it under her arm. “If you excuse me, I have more research to do. Call me or Mercedes if you need anything! Dinner is at sundown; tonight’s hot menu item is canned beans and leftover venison.”</p><p>Mercedes nods at Sylvain before adding, “I’ll be checking on your wounds tomorrow, please be mindful not to irritate them if possible, I left your belongings in 108 in anticipation.” Sylvain nods at her and the two women take off down the hallway, resuming their previous chatter about the book.</p><p>He peeks inside room 108, and unsurprisingly it is a big mess. There are multiple desks and broken chairs littered throughout the room, not to mention scattered paper and unidentifiable chunks of plastic. His bag is sitting on one of the desks, his shotgun propped up next to it, the rest of his underclothes folded neatly alongside his armor. He sighs and begins to sift through the mess a bit, making only a meager amount of progress before he becomes bored and starts to think about the events of the day.</p><p>
  <em> It seems I’m not being held prisoner, but at the same time, I don’t think I’m supposed to go anywhere until the others return. This Dimitri fella seems like he’ll be a real charmer, I guess he must be their leader. Then there’s Felix. </em>
</p><p>Sylvain reflects back on their short, heated exchange they had back in the barn.</p><p>
  <em> I guess I should thank him, technically he saved my life. </em>
</p><p>Sylvain remembers the icy glare in Felix’s eyes when he basically told Sylvain to kill himself. The snarl on his lips as he stared at Sylvain with disdain.</p><p>
  <em> No fucking way, I’m not thanking that asshole. </em>
</p><p>Speaking of Felix, Sylvian couldn’t help but be curious about that painting he saw only briefly through the doorway of his room. He wandered out and down the hallway, stopping at 105. He gingerly pushed the door open, walking to the other side of the room to get a closer look. Picking it off the floor and brushing some dust away, it seemed like it was a painting of a tree. It didn’t look like any particularly interesting tree, just a classic maple with it’s leaves blooming proudly across the canvas. He adjusted his grip and underneath his thumb he discovered some words in broad, scrawling letters.</p><p>
  <strong>“Fe- Keep climbing. I will be waiting. -G”</strong>
</p><p>Sylvain carefully places the painting back on the floor, crouching down he suddenly feels extremely tired, and inadvertently falls backwards onto the makeshift bed. His head in Felix’s blankets, a strong musky smell fills his senses, and it isn’t exactly unpleasant. His body is still recovering, and he’s exhausted. He really didn’t feel like trying to yank himself up and scramble for another hour to get a proper room set up. He’ll take care of it tomorrow; Mercedes mentioned in passing that the rest of the group wouldn’t be back for a day or two.</p><p><em> Just one night, one night in this asshole’s bed </em>, just to recover his strength he tells himself. As Sylvain drifts off into an uneasy sleep, he has no way of knowing this would be the first of many nights he will eventually spend in Felix’s bed. No way of knowing that one day, he will struggle to sleep without his scent so closely entangled in the folds of their sheets.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sylvain is really struggling to hold himself together long enough to punch Felix in the face, *cough* with his mouth *cough*.</p><p>If you like this fanfic and you want to stay updated, please consider following/checking out my <a href="https://manaketefirestone.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>. I post updates about my writing, artwork, and potential future projects. Please feel free to make comments, suggestions, or share your thoughts!</p><p>Thank you for reading!<br/>-Manakete 🐉🔥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Something Different</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Felix heads back to the outpost and discovers something unusual. Sylvain shares an impressive meal with the girls as he contemplates if staying is the right choice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As the first morning light casts its rays on a half asleep Felix, stationed deep within the high brush for hours without rest, he is suddenly jolted awake by the sound of approaching footsteps. His body tenses and reaches instinctively for his machete, but a moment later the cadence of their steps is familiar to him. He brushes a branch out of his face and relaxes back into the tree as he addresses her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ingrid.” His voice is monotone as he shoots one eye in her direction, the other remaining closed. Her arrival to his station could mean nothing, but he’s sure she has something to say. When it came to scolding him, she always did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Felix.” She smirks, putting a hand on her hip and looking up at the grouchy man half asleep in a tree. “I just finished my rounds, the Captain sent me to find you. There hasn’t been any plaguebeast activity since last night. In fact, it’s been concerningly quiet. I suspect it has something to do with the Forlorn, wherever it might be.” Her eyes glisten with a silent rage, as they do whenever someone speaks of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s nice.” Felix replies, putting his arms behind his head and looking up at the rising sun through the leaves. As expected in Verdant Rain, the black fog that covers the sky enshrouds half of the sun’s rays, leaving a constant gray film on even the brightest of mornings. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not as pretty as Crimson Flower</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you please get out of the tree?” Ingrid asks, her expression pulsing with irritation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you just climb up the tree and join me? That sounds easier.” He can feel her aura bristle angrily and he smirks at the prickly sensation. He can’t help himself, she’s so fun to piss off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises her shotgun and points it in his direction. “Felix, get out of the motherfucking tree or I’ll make you do it myself.” Her eyes are focused and cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows she won’t shoot him, but he also knows she isn’t bluffing. He lets out a sigh and jumps down, landing like an agile cat in front of her. “I get it, I get it, I’m down from the tree alright?” He says rolling his eyes, but then winces as pain radiates from his leg. That disgusting thing got him better than he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid notices his pained expression immediately, unsurprisingly, and rushes to his aid throwing his arm around her shoulders before he has a chance to say no. “Don’t tell me you’ve been on patrol this whole time with an untreated injury?” She asks accusingly, glancing down at his leg as she braces his weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Felix says, escaping her clutches and leaning against the tree. “Then I won’t tell you.” Sweat drips from his face as he tries to willpower the pain away. His wound isn’t very deep, and certainly not mortal, but the wolf managed to claw a sizable chunk out of his calf, and had nicked more than a few veins. He’s spent the last few hours treating it himself to avoid this exact conversation. He doesn’t need to bother Mercedes with something so trivial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Felix you are insufferable.” Ingrid says, pointing at him indignantly. “I know you don’t want to bother Mercedes, but the Captain has no use for wounded soldiers. If you don’t treat it properly you’ll only slow us down.” Her tone is harsh, but her eyes are soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix scoffs, but deep down he knows she’s right. Most people would’ve died from blood loss within a few hours from a wound like this, if they didn’t turn first, but Felix isn’t most people. Then again, none of the Blue Lions are “most people”. Without a word, he turns and takes off towards the base.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell the Captain you’re checking on the girls.” Ingrid shouts after him, watching the wounded fox scamper away until he’s out of her sight. She sighs, returning her shotgun to its holster. “Felix, I feel like I’m always watching you run away.” She turns and heads in the direction of the campsite. “What will it take to get you to stay?”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Sylvain is awoken abruptly from a pleasant dream of one of his former “conquests” by a kick from a boot to the back of his head. He sputters as his hands shoot to cradle his sore scalp, rolling out of the makeshift bed in the process. He looks up from the floor and locks eyes with a very obviously pissed off Felix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck dude? I’m not a shambler!” Sylvain grunts, rubbing his head and wincing in pain, his mind still groggy with sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck do you mean what the fuck? Why the fuck are you in my room!” Felix shouts, his body bristling as he gestures angrily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What are you talking abou-” Sylvain starts to say, but then his morning fog clears. All the memories of yesterday hit at once, and for one of the very few times in his life, he’s left speechless. Even within his mind, a place usually bursting with endless thoughts, one-liners and anxieties, a single word passes through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The two boys stare at each other silently, Sylvain feels a cold sweat pool at his temple as Felix’s eyes shoot daggers at his throat. He crawls a few feet backward reflexively as he tries to recollect himself, unable to tear his focus away from the piercing glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I can explain-” Sylvain begins, but as he feels his hand touch something solid Felix cuts him off with an angry roar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you DARE fucking touch that!” Felix shouts, yanking the painting from underneath Sylvain’s careless palm with lightning fast speed. He glances at it quickly, his eyes shaking slightly, before returning his focus to the fumbling auburn haired man beneath him. Before Sylvain has a chance to react or apologize, Felix’s expression goes dark. “Get out of my room. Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain gulps, nodding silently and rising to his feet. He can feel Felix’s eyes boring into the back of his head even as the door slams shut behind him. Annette peers curiously from her doorway at the defeated Sylvain, but as the two of them make eye contact she quickly closes her door, leaving him alone in a hallway that feels about ten times emptier than it did before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain stands in the hallway motionless for a few seconds, unsure of what to do next. He scratches the back of his head, still pulsating from the bottom of Felix’s boot, and decides to head back to his room. Closing the door behind him, he sinks to the ground with his back to the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think trying to be friends with him is a lost cause at this point. What is he doing here anyways? I thought they were all supposed to be gone for two days! Goddammit, why am I even here?! Maybe I should just leave…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He sulks for a bit while he weighs his options, and decides that leaving is probably the best option. However, he also decides to finish cleaning up his room before taking off. The least he can do for their hospitality is prepare the room for any future guests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain spends an hour or so sifting through the rubble and trying to make the place look more like a bedroom and less like a warzone. He grabs spare linens from the storage room and places them on the ground beneath his bedrole, then takes a broom to sweep piece after piece of broken stone and debris until it’s all piled neatly in the corner. He opens his backpack and pulls out his few possessions: a knife, a few candles, a crudely drawn map of the area, a large metal spoon he uses as a mirror, extra bullets and cartridges, some strips of fabric, a needle, a flask of alcohol for emergencies, and finally…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Miklan. I’m so sorry. I’m still pathetic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s unable to look at the object in his hand. It’s too painful. He leaves it at the bottom of the backpack, and places the bag on a desk. Where he plans on going, he doesn’t need anything but his shotgun. If he can’t kill himself, he’ll go down fighting those vile creatures instead. He puts his hand on the doorknob and as he does the happy faces of Annette and Mercedes pass through his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it. I can’t do it. They’re really trying to make me feel at home here. If I die after I was entrusted in Mercedes care, would the Captain punish her for it? The guy seems scary, is he capable of something like that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand falls to his side. He can’t do it. It’s not worth the risk.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too pathetic to die. Too pathetic to live.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He slams his fist against the wall with frustration, the aged concrete crumbling against his strength and putting a dent in the already battered wall. Suddenly there’s a knock at the door, the sound pulling him out of his fog. He opens the door to come face-to-face with Mercedes, and a curious Annette peering out from behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I see you’ve set up your room! That’s wonderful. I’m sorry we didn’t have somewhere nicer for you.” She smiles looking over his shoulder, before matching her eyes with his once more. Her gaze is kind but prodding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows immediately she heard his little outburst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I do clean up well.” Sylvain says, shrugging playfully. “Don’t apologize, it’s out of your control. Hey, for an abandoned building, this place sure is nice! Don’t sell yourself short.” His words are cheerful, but behind the mask that has become second nature to him, his eyes are hollow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well!” Annette pipes up from beside Mercedes, “We know you were too tired yesterday and couldn’t make it, but we wanted to invite you to dinner! It’s important to eat at least twice a day, especially for someone recovering from an injury.” Her eyes shine with concern for someone who doesn’t believe he deserves it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about declining the offer, but then Mercedes adds fuel to the fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you ate, Sylvain?” She asks, tilting her head innocently, most likely already knowing the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- uh- yeah I’ll go to dinner, no problem!” He says, his mask faltering a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes seems satisfied with this answer, nodding her head slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, when you hear the bell ring you’ll know it’s ready. You better realize how lucky you are to have us cooking for you. With the two of us together, we can make squirrel meat taste like venison! Oh, but don’t worry, we aren’t feeding you squirrel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the clarification. I’m looking forward to it.” Sylvain says, and after hearing how passionate Annette seems about the idea, he’s telling the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A nice meal can’t hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Some time had passed; what little light from the sun visible through the fog had all but vanished as the bleeding moon began to rise. Sylvain rests with his arms behind his neck and stares up at the sky, visible through the crumbling roof. It’s the first time in a while he’s truly felt relaxed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not to say he’s gotten over the incident from earlier, Felix’s angry expression still pops into his thoughts occasionally, sending waves of embarrassment and anger across his face. He still can’t believe he fell asleep in his fucking bed. He grabs the makeshift pillow and smothers himself with it, letting out an annoyed groan. The sudden movement irritates his stitches and he winces.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. I wonder if the food is gonna be ready soon?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, he hears a bell ringing. He pulls himself to his feet and opens the door, shuffling down the hallway until he reaches the intersection. Sylvain glances down the corridor and sees light coming from the room across from the library, and oh- what a delicious scent. He knows that if it’s even half as good as it smells, even with his dulled sense of taste, he’s in for a treat. His stomach rumbles impatiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there you are!” Annette’s head pokes out from the doorway. “C’mon, food’s almost on the table!” Her voice echoing slightly in the dim hallway, she smiles, retreating back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain can’t help the small smirk that creeps up on his lips. He follows after her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in the doorway, he sees a large open space with broken and decrepit tables. Many of the benches are snapped in half, most of the tables caved inwards and rotting. However, the table in the center of the room is relatively intact, probably due to the ceiling in that area being undamaged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something smells delicious! Thanks for inviting me ladies, really, you spoil me.” Sylvain says, sitting down on the bench and propping his chin with his elbow on the table. The girls don’t respond, either annoyed or too busy to care. He tries a more subtle approach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s for dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boar! Seasoned with pine, garlic, and bergamot. The pine and bergamot are from just outside, and the garlic is from a village we passed through a few months ago. It was a parting gift, they have quite the farm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Off on one side of the room a fire pit has been constructed, a pig carcass spitted and roasting. Annette turns it one last time before removing it from the fire, bringing the large stick to the table and plopping it on a slab of wood in the center, pig and all. Mercedes is knelt near the fire with a large black pan, stirring something brown. Annette hurries over to a broken wall and grabs a large bucket from just outside, Sylvain assumes full of rain water. She puts some iron mugs on the table alongside the bucket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mercie, is it almost ready?” Annette asks, crouching beside her excitedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is now.” Mercedes replies, standing up and bringing the pan to the table. As she grows closer, Sylvain gets a whiff of the mysterious brown mush in the pan. It’s sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is immediately surprising for a few reasons, firstly that deserts are incredibly difficult to come by. Most deserts require baking, and baking requires ovens. Only the Abyssals and </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span>one or two of the clans that supported them have working ovens. Secondly, if baking is already difficult, finding proper ingredients even more so. The “flour mills” and “factories” of the past are long gone, known only by name without the knowledge or technology to rebuild them. If you want something, you have to do it yourself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Sylvain asks, mouth already watering with anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes smiles, putting the sizzling pan down on the table. “It’s something I invented myself, I call it sweet jam! It’s made from sweet potatoes, rice, honey, and milk. Although, we don’t have any milk right now, so I used water. It’s not as good, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” Sylvain can only stare at the meal in front of him, dumbfounded. “You got all those ingredients from the farm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well no, not all of them. Mercie and I use these jars-” She grabs an old plastic jar of what appears to be berries and waves it in front of him. “-to collect things we find on our travels. A lot of the techniques we know are from old books and cooking manuals we’ve found. Mercie ferments yeast for bread using these jars as well, and we have a mortar and pestle we use to grind flour!” She looks incredibly proud as she shows off her collection, jar after jar of herbs, spices, and more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You girls are incredible. I have to say, I’m beyond impressed. I can’t believe a guy like me could be so lucky to eat a home cooked meal like this.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially in a ruin, surrounded by things - and at least one person - that wants to kill me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette and Mercedes beam happily, Annette rhythmically tapping her fingers against her mug like she’s waiting for something. Mercedes exchanges a look with her, and then grabs a large knife to cut into the pork. A delicious heat pours out of the roasted carcass, Sylvain’s mouth watering in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meat is divided equally among them. Sylvain’s fingers reach excitedly for his chunk, but Annette stops him. He arches an eyebrow, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re waiting for Felix.” She says, looking past him to the empty doorway. There’s a brief but awkward pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Sylvain replies quietly, shifting uncomfortably on the bench and rubbing the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes shoots them both a glance. “Annie, there’s no point. You know how he gets. We might as well start eating and just be happy he came back to seek treatment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette gaze wavers as she continues to stare at the doorway, finally turning to look at Mercedes and nodding. Her fingers stop tapping on the mug. She picks up her piece of meat and starts eating, the rest of them soon following.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meat and “sweet jam” are beyond delicious, as delicious as something can be for a Marked. He hasn’t had a meal this good since he was a little boy. It reminds him of happier times, back in the village with his family. Over the meal they share stories of their travels. Sylvain tells embellished tales of his adventures with his brother when they were kids, the girls both eagerly listening.  As the sound of laughter fills the empty room, Sylvain smiles genuinely for the first time in months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room grows dark and cold, with only the lanterns to see what he’s eating. At the end of the meal, Sylvain asks them if they want help with the cleanup, as a proper gentleman should. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes looks over at Annette who shakes her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can handle this, but thank you Sylvain,” Mercedes starts, “I’m glad you were able to join us tonight. The rest of the group should be back by the festering moon. Please use tomorrow to rest and recover. We’ll be eating these leftovers for a few days, so the meat will be salted and stuffed in these jars. They’ll be just over here by the fire when you want some.” She gestures to Annette, who's already stuffing meat in jars and sprinkling salt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain nods. “I’ll consider this our first date, I look forward to our next one.” He winks looking back at them, waving as he heads out the door and into the long hallway, now almost completely pitch black. The light of the moon just barely peeks through a boarded up window. He pokes his head back in the dining room. “Actually, could I borrow one of those lanterns? I wouldn’t want to end up back in the medical room because I tripped and broke my neck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercedes giggles. “Why don’t you walk him back, Annette? I can finish this myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette looks up from her duties and nods. “Alright, thanks Mercie! I’ll see you… soon?” She bashfully fidgets with her collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, soon.” Mercedes replies, her eyes soft under the lantern light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Annette says, blushing slightly, grabbing her lantern and heading towards Sylvain. She grabs his arm and leads him down the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What was that about?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts go unanswered as she brings him to the door, wishing him a goodnight as she saunders off to her own room. His stomach full, he falls asleep quickly, his dreams flickering between pleasant memories and nightmares.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>From his room, Felix can hear the obnoxious red-head snoring. Seems like everyone went to sleep. He opens his door a crack, the hallway is expectedly empty. Quietly, he makes his way to the dining room. Sitting on the table is a chunk of meat, still warm, and a mug filled with water.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, Mercedes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He eats it greedily, sucking every last piece of meat off the bone before gulping down the water with one fell swoop. He cleans up his mess and returns to his room to grab his things. He can hear giggling coming from Annette’s room as he heads to the exit, an assault rifle slung over his shoulder and a machete strapped to each hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix heads back to the camp, his leg still throbbing but stitched and sanitized nicely. His head is swimming with thoughts, namely anger and pain but also… something else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t get the image of that idiot, no, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>pervert</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sleeping in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> bed out of his head. When Felix saw him, it was obvious what kind of dream the man was having. Way too fucking obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Felix has always known he’s gay, for as long as he can remember he’s never been interested in girls. Honestly, most of the time he’s barely interested in boys either. He’s accepted this, but he keeps it to himself. It’s not that he’s worried what people might say, being gay isn’t really something most people give a shit about in the apocalypse, but he doesn’t want to open himself up to anyone. Ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he’s not ashamed to admit the guy is attractive. He’s furious at himself for letting his emotions get in the way of his duties. The guy’s a lost cause, a pathetic weakling who was ready to kill himself. Yet, back in the barn that day, the despair in his eyes. It stirred a painful memory in Felix, and he couldn’t walk away. Now the guy was shirtless and having horny dreams </span>
  <em>
    <span>in his bedroom</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Felix wants to go back in time and punch himself in the fucking face for saving such an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the girls have taken a liking to him, so he knows there’s nothing he can do about it now. Except maybe hope that moron manages to piss Dimitri off. It’ll be nice if the Boar takes his anger out on someone else for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever. If he’s useful on the battlefield, that’s all that really matters.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The forest quickly swallows him, the stars and distant smoke his only guide.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this chapter was delayed for awhile, the coronavirus and just life in general has been difficult lately. However, things are looking up, so I will be working on the next chapter right away! Drop some words of encouragement in the comment section :)</p><p>If you like this fanfic and you want to stay updated, please consider following/checking out my <a href="https://manaketefirestone.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>. I post updates about my writing, artwork, and potential future projects. Please feel free to make comments, suggestions, or share your thoughts!</p><p>Thank you for reading!<br/>-Manakete 🐉🔥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Cursed Blood and Painful Realities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain spends time with Mercedes and learns some fascinating things about the Marked. The tension between the rest of the Blue Lions and Dimitri flares. After returning to base, Felix once again finds himself in a shouting match with one frustratingly charming ginger. Sylvain asks Annette to teach him how to use his powers.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain spends the following day lounging around the base, talking with Annette and Mercedes, as well as getting his wounds redressed. When Mercedes removes the cloth wrapped tightly around his abdomen he winces, but both of them are pleased to see that the bleeding has stopped and scabs are beginning to form. She dabs some clean fabric with a concoction from one of her many jars before delicately wrapping it around him, it stings a bit but she reassures him that means it’s working. </p><p>She freezes for a moment, staring at his left rib cage just below his pectoral muscle. He looks down to meet her gaze, immediately realizing what’s caught her interest, but he decides to play coy.</p><p>“I know, my body is pretty impressive now that you’ve seen it in the daylight, huh?” He smirks, flexing his arm and wiggling his eyebrows. </p><p>Mercedes remains unfazed, gesturing to the area in question.</p><p>“I see, I didn’t get a good look at it before - you’re a Burster? Your mark is quite unique, it reminds me of a spider.” She looks up at him curiously.</p><p>“Burster?” He asks, dropping his bravado and peering down at her, “What does that mean?”</p><p>“You don’t know about mark classification?” She asks with a surprised glance, before returning her focus to finishing his dressings. “The village you were raised in must be quite a solitary place, to not know of the three mark classes.” She pulls the bandages taught and sits back in the chair by his bedside.</p><p>Sylvain sits up, cracking his knuckles and examining her handiwork. As expected, he’s able to move around comfortably without tearing the fabric. “Yeah, you could say that. Thanks for the patch job Doc, I already feel leagues better, of course with a woman as beautiful as you taking care of me I shouldn’t be too shocked.”</p><p>Without missing a beat, Mercedes continues her explanation.</p><p>“Although the curse presents itself differently in every Marked, there are enough similarities that it becomes possible to split them into three categories. First, and most commonly, are Shifters. Those that are able to shift a portion of their body in some manner, and whose marks are composed of jagged, flat, or pointed lines.”</p><p>She traces the pointed lines and edges of his mark for emphasis with her finger, sending shivers down his spine as she continues to speak.</p><p>“Secondly there are Controllers, those who are able to project their consciousness into someone or something else, their marks are rounded or curved, often with circular shapes or patterns.” </p><p>Her finger moves from the jagged lines to the circles, continuing to trace the mark on his flesh. Her nail scrapes against him unintentionally. </p><p>Sylvain shifts uncomfortably in his seat, inhaling sharply through his nose. He’s not sure if he’s scared or aroused, or some combination of both. </p><p>“Finally,” Mercedes continues, lifting her finger away from him, “and rarest of all are Bursters. Those who are able to manifest the curse itself, and wield it in some fashion. Their marks do not follow any particular set of rules, often with a combination of curved and jagged lines such as your own. Or…” she pauses, pulling on the collar of her shirt until the curvature of her breast is visible.</p><p>Sylvain gulps, feeling the blood rush to his pants. Then he notices the mark on her chest, just below her clavicle and above the hemline of her collar that she’s tugged down. It looks vaguely like a star. </p><p>“...sometimes they are completely unique. Like my own, for example.” She readjusts her shirt, returning it to its proper state and covering the mark once more.</p><p>“Huh…” Sylvain says, his eyes still lingering on her chest.</p><p>“Sylvain.” Mercedes addresses him, attempting to refocus his attention.</p><p>“....”</p><p>“Sylvain. Your wounds are dressed, do you have any other questions or concerns?” Her voice carries a hint of irritation behind those kind, smiling eyes.</p><p>“Haha, right, sorry. I um…” He fiddles with his hands. “Well how exactly do you ‘manifest the curse’. Does it have something to do with that trick you did the other day, where you ‘spoke to my wounds’ or whatever?”</p><p>“Yes,” She nods her head, “I’m able to manipulate the dark energy within myself and extend it like a blanket onto others. When I concentrate and touch another person, I am able to see and feel their injuries as if they were my own, temporarily hosting their pain inside my body. How the wounds were caused, how long they’ve been there, how well they are healing. The curse whispers this information back to me. It’s unpleasant, to say the least, but it is quite useful.”</p><p>“Wait… so then... “ Sylvain starts, looking down at his bandages.</p><p>“Yes, I know. I saw the whole thing. You’re lucky Felix found you when he did.” She admits, a sad smile on her face.</p><p>“Then why did you act like you didn’t know? When I was…” He clenches the bedsheets with a balled fist, unable to meet her gaze.</p><p>Mercedes puts her hand on his arm comfortingly.</p><p>“Because I wanted you to tell me yourself, when and if you were ready. Although, now that I’ve confessed my abilities to you, I guess we are past that point. I apologize for seeing things you weren’t ready to share, but I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t use my powers to determine the scale and depth of your injuries you would’ve bled to death.”</p><p>Sylvain takes a deep breath and then raises his head, looking into her eyes he nods solemnly.</p><p> “It’s fine, you did what you had to do. Thank you, for saving my life. I don’t know if I was worth your time or effort, and especially the suffering you must have endured, but I’ll try to become someone you don’t regret saving.”</p><p>Mercedes’ eyes widen, and then she bursts into laughter. Her laughter is soft and giggly as she brings her hand to cover her mouth. Sylvain gives an awkward chuckle, perplexed at her sudden outburst.</p><p>“What, am I really that lame?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.</p><p>“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” She giggles, “You just… when you said that, it reminded me of someone I used to know. In a good way.”</p><p>Sylvain raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Oh really, well he couldn’t possibly be as charming as me, obviously.” He boasts, only half joking.</p><p>She smiles, reaching across to flick him on the nose.</p><p>“Hey, ow!” Sylvain cups his nose dramatically.</p><p>“Yes, it looks like your pain response time is normal. I guess that’s it for today, you can run along now. Again I must ask you, please don’t do any strenuous activity for a bit, although you seem to heal quite fast I don’t want to risk your wounds reopening.”</p><p>Sylvain pushes off the bed with his forearms and stretches. </p><p>“You got it doc, feeling better already.”</p>
<hr/><p>Upon returning to camp, Felix had immediately tried to rush back out into the forest so he could take his frustrations out on some nightbound. Rolling a few shambler heads with his high powered assault rifle might take the edge off, at the very least, but Ingrid insisted he stay at the camp on guard duty until they all met up the next morning.</p><p>He wanted to protest, but the dull ache emitting from his leg coupled with the serious look on Ingrid’s face made him decide it wasn’t worth it. He spent the rest of the night patrolling the camp, silently pleading that something or someone would emerge from the bushes and keep him entertained. Unfortunately, the others were doing more than a good enough job tearing anything within a mile to shreds. Throughout the night as he sat by the fire and kicked at the stones, he could hear the distant pop of bullets.</p><p>Before he knew it, the sun was rising over the trees as the footsteps of his allies approached. They all quickly assembled around the fire, except for Dimitri who regularly refused to be seen resting. That was something the two of them still had in common.</p><p>Ashe is the last to enter the clearing, carrying something in his hand. As he gets closer, Felix realizes what it is and his expression darkens.The others reach the same conclusion.</p><p>“Is that… a teddy bear?” Ingrid asks, gesturing to the torn fabric, straw falling out of it’s mangled body.</p><p>“Yes. I found it during my patrol, as well as... “ The freckled boy pauses, a pained expression on his face, “... the owner.”</p><p>“The owner?” Dedue gestures for Ashe to sit by his side, his voice full of concern for whatever horror his companion managed to stumble upon.</p><p>Ashe concedes and sits by the hulking man’s side, squeezing the remains of the teddy bear between his hands, his gaze locked onto the flames of the firepit. He continues.</p><p>“It was… it was still holding the teddy bear. Couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9 when...”</p><p>“Obviously you took care of it?” Dimitri interjects.</p><p>“Of course!” Ashe asserts, glancing at the blonde man with disdain, “Of course I did.” His eyes return to the comfort of the flames, a blank expression on his face.</p><p>“Good.” Dimitri replies coldy. “Do not waste your tears on the dead, you cannot bring them back, only end their suffering.”</p><p>Felix scoffs, drawing the attention of their brooding leader.</p><p>“Do you have a problem with that, Felix? Or are you whimpering like an injured fox.” Dimitri challenges, glancing at the bandages on the raven haired man’s leg.</p><p>Felix narrows his eyes.</p><p>“I don’t have a problem with jackshit, Boar.”</p><p>“I didn’t think so. Now, if that’s settled, we should break camp and return to the base before sunset.” Dimitri postulates with his arms, “I know we planned on being out here until the festering moon, but the nightbound are more active than I initially expected. We will return to base, have Annette locate the Forlorn, and take care of it as soon as possible. Those are your orders.”</p><p>“Understood, Captain.” Dedue and Ingrid say simultaneously, rising to their feet and slugging equipment bags over their shoulders. They begin rolling up the cots, packing up the mugs and dumping out the water on the fire.</p><p>“Oh, and Ashe, throw that filthy thing away. It’s an eyesore.” Dimitri commands, staring at the shredded teddy bear with disgust. Without another word, he turns and begins preparing his own gear for the trip back to base.</p><p>The flames flicker and slowly dissipate until there’s nothing but a pile of ash, the boy who shares their name staring silently as the pieces lift in the wind and travel into the sky. Dedue offers his hand and helps him to his feet before destroying any evidence there was ever a fire there at all.</p><p>Felix gets what small amount of gear he has packed and approaches the two of them. He nods once respectfully at Dedue, and gives Ashe a slap on the back.</p><p>“Come on babyface, let’s see how many “lucky shots” you can get on the way back.” Felix teases, walking on ahead of them.</p><p>Ashe smiles and follows after him, rifle slung over his shoulder.</p>
<hr/><p>The sun is just beginning to set when they finally arrive outside the decrepit school that they’ve been calling home for the last eight moons. Dimtri pushes the doors open without bothering to announce himself. He turns to the group. </p><p>“You may spend tonight resting and recovering your strength. I’m going to consult with Annette. Be prepared to move tomorrow.” He starts to walk towards the library, then pauses mid stride to turn and address Felix. “Felix, go speak with Mercedes. Find out if our newest member will be ready for combat tomorrow. He’s your responsibility, after all.” With that final note, the captain turns and continues on.</p><p>Felix huffs under his breath, but he does what he’s told. The group splits off, most of them returning to their rooms to rest. He goes down the hallway and enters the infirmary, Mercedes is sitting at the desk soaking fabric in a herbal remedy concoction and leaving them out to dry. As the bristling man approaches, she turns to welcome him.</p><p>“Oh, Felix. I didn’t realize you would be back so soon, your wounds haven’t opened back up I hope?” She gives him the once over, searching for evidence of blood.</p><p>“It’s not just me, the boar decided we should return early. There’s been an unusual amount of undead bastards around, and he’s become convinced it’s the work of a Forlorn. Maybe he’s right, I don’t really care.” He sits down on the cot, not objecting when she silently begins changing his bandages.</p><p>“Oh my, a Forlorn? How frightening, when was the last time we fought one of those? It’s been at least 12 moons…” She dabs his leg with alcohol and he winces.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s been awhile. But if there’s one thing me and that asshole agree on, it’s that we’ve both been itching to fight something more exciting then shamblers and the occasional plaguebeast pack.”</p><p>“So,” She redirects the conversation while wrapping his wound in fresh linens, “why else are you here? I can tell there’s something on your mind.”</p><p>He looks down at her, an annoyed look on his face. “You didn’t use any of your blood magic on me, did you?”</p><p>She sighs. “For the hundredth time Felix, I can’t read your mind, that’s more Annie’s department, if she decided to use her gifts for something other than recon.”</p><p>“Whatever.” He shrugs, “Well, the boar wants to know if the red head is going to be able to come with us tomorrow, for the hunt. It’s not like I care how he’s doing, or anything. I’m just - following that bastard's orders - until it doesn’t suit my interest anymore.”</p><p>Mercedes smiles and pats his leg to signal that he’s all set. “That’s big talk for someone who used to follow Dimitri around like a lost puppy.”</p><p>Felix’s face goes red as he snaps back at her. “Hey! I was a lot younger then, and it was years ago! Let it go already, he’s not worth admiring anymore.”</p><p>She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m just stating what I saw with my own eyes, Fef-”</p><p>His childhood nickname being uttered aloud though he abandoned it years ago sends him over the edge. “What the hell Mercedes! Don’t call me that. I’ll fucking… I’ll fight you!” He yells, his face like a tomato.</p><p>Suddenly there’s a third voice that joins the conversation. They both turn to look, locking eyes on a slightly nervous looking Sylvain, standing in the doorway.</p><p>“Sorry, I guess this is a bad time?”</p><p>Felix leaps off the bed and pulls out his machete, pointing it at Sylvain threateningly.</p><p>“How long have you just been standing there listening, idiot?”</p><p>“Something about you being a puppy, and your childhood nick-” Sylvain starts, sweating at the blade pointed at his neck.</p><p>“Don’t you dare fucking say it, if anyone’s a dog here it’s you, you hear me?” Felix growls, bringing his machete closer until it’s only inches from the red head’s neck.</p><p>“Um,” Mercedes pipes up, “Please don’t hurt my patient, he was on the brink of death less than three days ago.”</p><p>Felix lowers the machete, scoffing.</p><p>“Whatever. Hey listen here, hound, the captain wants you ready to fight tomorrow, you think you can handle that? Or do you still want to crawl back into that barn and pull the trigger. I can arrange that for you.” He smirks and pats his assault rifle.</p><p>“Felix!” Mercedes scolds him, “You don’t have to be so rude all the time, you know.”</p><p>“It’s okay Mercedes,” Sylvain insists, making eye contact with Felix. “I can handle this asshole on my own. Yes, I’ll be ready tomorrow. I’m in better shape than I’ve been in moons, thanks to the angel over there.” He points at Mercedes. </p><p>Then he takes a step closer towards Felix, allowing his height to do the talking.</p><p>“Don’t worry foxface, I’ll show you what I’m capable of.” He grins cheekily down at the furious machete wielding man. </p><p>Felix narrows his eyes and brushes past him, purposely bumping into him on the way out the door. Mercedes watches him leave and then turns her attention to Sylvain.</p><p>“He’s not… he’s not always like that. I’m sorry Sylvain.”</p><p>“It’s fine, really. I know how to handle guys like him, there were a few of them back home.” The red head replies, shrugging.</p><p>“Well, I don’t think you’ve ever met anyone quite like Felix. He’s… special.” Her eyes shake a bit, lost in memories of another time, another place, when Felix was less jaded.</p><p>“I’ll have to take your word on that.” Sylvain retorts, plopping himself on the cot casually like he owns the place.</p><p>“What can I help you with, sweetie?” Mercedes inquires, pulling her chair to his bedside.</p><p>“Have we already picked pet names for each other? I can get on board with that, how do you feel about Babygirl? Maybe Angel?” He asks flirtatiously.</p><p>“I was going to advise you not to leave tomorrow, but if you have the energy to say such ridiculous things then you have the energy to put yourself in harm’s way.” She says, her smile eerily cold.</p><p>“Okay I get it, I’ll brainstorm some better ones. I actually came here to ask you more questions about the curse. For starters, how do I uh... how do I use it?”</p><p>“You’ve never manifested your powers? Not even once?” Mercedes asks, tilting her head with surprise.</p><p>“Nope, haha, guess I never had the time.”</p><p>“How fascinating, I’ve never heard of a Burster who developed so late.”</p><p>“Well hold on now, I’ll have you know I am FULLY developed. In every way. Plenty of the girls back home will tell you the same.” Sylvain winks and motions with his hands to demonstrate his “development”. </p><p>“I’m not talking about your sexual potency, Sylvain.” Mercedes says, rolling her eyes.</p><p>“When you say it all clinically like that it sounds less impressive.”</p><p>“I can’t say it was all that impressive beforehand.”</p><p>“You have no way of knowing that until you find out for yourself, we can arrange that if you’d like. It’ll be just like this, I’ll be the patient, and you’ll be the Doctor.”</p><p>“Sylvain, do you want to know about the curse or do you just want to pointlessly stroke your own ego?” Mercedes crosses her arms indignantly.</p><p>“Okay fine, I’ll pointlessly stroke my own ego later tonight alone instead.”</p><p>“Sylvain.” She narrows her eyes, sweat forming on her brow.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, yes, I want to know more about the curse. How do I get it to… do the thing?”</p><p>“You have such a way with words. I’m sure the girls you mentioned earlier, who I’m sure were all very real, couldn’t get enough of it.” Her words sting more than the alcohol pads she used on him this morning.</p><p>“Ouch.”</p><p>“Anyways, it’s different for everyone. Typically when the mark emerges in adolescence, the powers do as well, but not always. Occasionally Marked have their powers suppressed in some way, through blessed objects, or even a psychological detriment. Either of those ring a bell for you?”</p><p>“Psychological detriment? What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“It could present itself in many ways,” She begins, moving a strand of hair out of her eyes. “An unfortunate experience with another Marked, or one somehow related to the mark and what it’s capable of might delay development of powers if it’s traumatic enough.”</p><p>Sylvain thinks back on all the times he felt guilty for just existing, for being born Marked. The constant traveling when someone discovered his secret, the suffering Miklan had to endure taking care of someone as hopeless as him.</p><p>“Yeah, you could say that rings a bell for me.” Sylvain says softly, a distant look in his eyes. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, forcing the unpleasant memories out.</p><p>Mercedes peers curiously at him. “Well, fortunately for you, Annette is somewhat of an expert at helping people develop their powers. It was actually her job before we left the Western Temple together and joined the Blue Lions.”</p><p>“Western Temple? You guys are Abyssals?”</p><p>“Technically, we all are. You do realize plaguehunter guilds, what few there are left, are sponsored by the Order? The Blue Lions are no different.”</p><p>“I guess I’m realizing a lot of things this week.” Sylvain chuckles, unsure how to absorb this new information. He’d always been told that the Abyssals were a bunch of evil monsters, stealing children from their beds to worship their dark god.</p><p>“Well, if you need her, you know where to find her.” She replies, standing up and returning her chair to the desk. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, you two used up at least half my medical supply.”</p><p>“Okay, thanks Doc, I’ll visit you again soon so don’t miss me too much.” He says, standing up and heading to the door, pausing to look back at her briefly before closing the door behind him.</p><p>Hearing the click of the door, Mercedes lets out a heavy sigh. “Felix, you’ve brought quite the wildcard home with you.”</p>
<hr/><p>When Sylvain enters the library, Annette is facing away from him, hunched over a table with a huge, scary looking man draped in animal skins across from her. He cautiously approaches them, unsure what to make of the situation. When he gets close enough to see the man’s scarred face, tousled blonde hair, and terrifying grimace he decides to announce his presence in the eerily quiet library.</p><p>“Annette, hi, sorry to interrupt I’m actually here because Mercedes said-” </p><p>“Silence, fool.” The blonde man interrupts him with a stern glance, then returns his attention to Annette. “Can’t you see she’s busy?”</p><p>Sylvain gulps and tries to get a better view of what’s going on, walking closer. There is a large bucket of water on the table, Annette’s head is tilted down at it like she’s trying to see the bottom but her eyes are rolled all the way to the back of her head. Her fingers are twitching on the table, her usually rosy cheeks pale as the driven snow.</p><p>He gasps and reaches out to touch her, but instantly a heavy iron grip is around his wrist preventing him from moving any further. Sylvain turns to the blonde whose fingers are like ice and tries his best not to be intimidated.</p><p>“Is she alright? What’s going on.”</p><p>“Just stay there. Do not touch her, and cease your questions. You may watch the process if it pleases you.” The scarred man assures him, his deep but articulate voice reverberating through the spacious room.</p><p>He releases his grip on Sylvain’s wrist, who notices immediately the red marks left behind by the man’s monstrous strength. Sylvain falls silent and turns his gaze to Annette, whose lips are trembling like she’s trying to say something. Then a choking sound escapes from her throat, followed by a series of words in ethereal whispers.</p><p>“East, River. Black Thorn Tree. Rotten Mountain. Howling Stone. Deep, Dark, Down.”</p><p>Annette’s eyes close, the color returning to her face. She coughs a few times and her eyes snap back to their usual blue green. Sylvain lets out a sigh of relief.</p><p>“Hey, you okay, what was that?” He asks, still a bit frightened.</p><p>She ignores him, turning to the blonde man. “Captain, I believe I’ve located the Forlorn. It’s a few miles from here, hiding in a cave. I wasn’t able to see it for myself, I didn’t want to risk Edgar’s safety.”</p><p>“That’s fine Annette, you did your job well. You and Mercedes will accompany us tomorrow for the hunt, we’ll need your support.”</p><p>“Understood, Captain.”</p><p>The man turns to Sylvain, addressing him curtly. “As for you, I believe we haven’t met formally. The last time I saw you, you were tossed over Felix’s shoulder, half dead. I’m the captain of this guild, my name is Dimitri but you will address me as Captain. You are alive and well because I allowed it to happen. If I ever decide you are a hindrance to this group, I may strike you down, if the nightbound don’t devour you first.” </p><p>His eyes are sharp knives, his heavy and volatile aura overwhelming Sylvain, as though he were a mouse backed into a corner by a cat.</p><p><em>This is a man who I shouldn’t mess around with</em>.</p><p>“Understood, Captain.” Sylvain replies, leading by Annette’s example.</p><p>“Oh, and one more thing.” Dimitri adds, “Don’t forget that until you prove yourself to me as a worthy soldier, you are Felix’s responsibility. If you do something foolish, I will punish him as well.”</p><p>Sylvain nods in response. Dimitri pushes the hair out of his face and heads towards the door. Without turning around, he gives a final command.</p><p>“I expect you to be prepared for the battle tomorrow, do not disappoint me.”</p><p>He exits briskly, his furs trailing behind him. Sylvain and Annette are left alone together, the distant fading echo of footsteps in the hallway the only sound as Dimitri retreats to his room. After an awkward silence, she turns to him.</p><p>“Hi Sylvain, it’s nice you got to finally meet the captain. I apologize for his, um, demeanor. He’s really not as bad as he seems, I owe my life to him. Honestly, all of us do, in some way or another.” She smiles sheepishly.</p><p>“I’m starting to think that everyone around here is… well… complicated. In that way, I guess I’m not that much of an outsider after all.” Sylvain concedes, shrugging.</p><p>“Yeah,” Annette giggles, “you should fit right in around here.”</p><p>Sylvain can no longer contain his curiosity.</p><p>“So hey, what was with that whole… thing you just did. With the weird voice and the rolled back eyes? Also who the hell is Edgar?” Sylvain comments, mocking the behavior and speaking in a way similar to what he heard earlier.</p><p>“Hey, I can’t control how I look when I'm scrying, don't make fun of me!” Annette says, blushing with embarrassment as she balls her fists and stomps her foot. “Edgar is my familiar, he’s a crow, and he’s my eyes and ears when I use my powers.” She pouts and looks away from him with her hands on her hips.</p><p>He’d heard some Marked used familiars though he hadn’t anticipated how terrifying it looked in practice, anyway, it wasn’t the most shocking thing he’d heard today. That award goes to Mercedes. </p><p>“Woah woah, I didn’t realize I was hitting a nerve. Don’t worry, you look super cute when you lose all the blood in your face and start speaking like a ghost.” Sylvain laughs, dodging the incoming smack.</p><p>Annette turns her back to him, bristling with annoyance and crossing her arms. “So what did you come here for, just to bully me? I’ll have you know that the captain and everyone else knows that my skills are an invaluable part of this guild.”</p><p>“Your skills are actually why I’m here. Mercedes said you could uh, train me?”</p><p>She turns back around to him, surprised. “You don’t know how to use your powers?”</p><p>“No, not exactly. I didn’t even know about mark classification until Mercedes gave me a lecture on it this morning.Turns out I’m a Burster, still don’t fully understand what that means, but apparently it makes me special.”</p><p>“Wow,” She mutters, “guess you still have a lot to learn, huh? I guess that makes me your teacher. Hey! Stand up straight when I’m talking to you, and you’ll address me as Sister Anne from now until you graduate.” She exclaims, tilting her staff at him and trying to appear as professional as possible.</p><p>“Is that really necessary?” Sylvain murmurs under his breath.</p><p>“Is my student already questioning my authority? I’ll have you run three laps around the chapel!” She thumps the bottom of her staff on the ground and points at him accusingly.</p><p>
  <em>She seems pretty serious, hell, I’ll go along with it for now. I’m not opposed to a little student-teacher rendezvous. </em>
</p><p>“Alright, Sister Anne, how do I use my powers? Won’t you please teach me?”</p><p>“That’s what I thought you said,” Annette declares, “now onto your first lesson, accepting pain and channeling it.”</p><p>“I thought we were going to do some sort of magic ritual, but you’re just gonna make me talk about my past? What’s step two, crying into a pillow?” Sylvain groans.</p><p>“Don’t question my methods! I know what I’m doing. This isn’t as simple as you might think.” She insists, closing her eyes and concentrating. </p><p>Sylvain watches in horror as her arm swells up, veins shifting from a pale blue to a bubbling black. Her skin steams as if it’s being dipped in scalding water. She scrunches her face, sweat beads forming on her forehead.</p><p>Sylvain flails backwards, practically falling out of his chair in shock. He watches in stunned silence as Annette takes a deep breath and her arm slowly returns to normal, the black blood receding.</p><p>“What- what the hell was that?! Are you alright?” Sylvain balks. </p><p>
  <em>This girl just keeps throwing me for a horrified loop today!</em>
</p><p>“The black blood that flows in all of our veins is the source of our powers. You know about how the Marked came to be? Even nameless babies in the Crystal Valley have probably heard whispers about it. Or are you that clueless?” Annette inquires, her unintentional insult causing Sylvain’s forehead to pulse with annoyance.</p><p>“Oh come on, of course I know about it! The Abyssals created the Marked right? In order to fight off the Nightbound, and all of us are descendents of the original 78.”</p><p>“That’s mostly correct,” Annette admits, “but there are some crucial details that have intentionally been kept from the masses. Things that are only told to people in the highest rank of the Order. People who have been to the Hallowed Rot.”</p><p>“Hold on” Sylvain gapes, “I thought the Hollowed Rot was just an old wive’s tale mothers tell their babies to keep them obedient? The whole “the Abyssals are gonna snatch you from your bed and take you there if you don’t behave” thing.”</p><p>“It’s a very real, and very dangerous place.” Annette seeths, visibly upset.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I don’t want to stir up any painful feelings for you.” Sylvain laments.</p><p>“It’s alright, I opened the door to this conversation by choice. It’s not your fault for walking through it.” She insists, her dimples forming in a weak smile. “It’s true, they created the Marked. However, they did so by messing with forces that they didn’t fully understand. Sure, in the end it worked, but what was the cost?”</p><p>“I know a lot more people went to the First Temple that day then came out. Is that what you mean? The cost was all those lives?”</p><p>She shakes her head. “No, even beyond that. The Marked have never been seen as people, we’ve always been tools. Necessary monsters. Then when we become obsolete and outstayed our welcome, what happened? At best, we’re fetishistically worshipped. And at worst… well, you know the rest.</p><p>Sylvains takes her words to heart. “I never really thought about it like that before, I mean I’ve always thought it was unfair that we get treated like dirt for existing, but to be tools rather than people…” He grimaces. “I guess I was too caught up in my own bullshit to think of the bigger picture.”</p><p>“It’s not something the younger generations of Marked think about, now that the majority of us are no longer serving our “intended role”. Well, except for us, and any other Marked out there still fighting. Most of us are just trying to survive, to blend in, to be human. We’re exactly like the iron districts, a relic of the past now crumbling and rusting away quietly into oblivion, their original purpose lost to time.”</p><p>Her words fill in the gaps of questions he’d always kept in the back of his mind, too afraid to consider the possibility that at the end of the day, he wasn’t human.</p><p>“So… if we aren’t human, what are we? What’s our purpose now, if what we have to offer is no longer necessary?” He asks, afraid of what her answer might be.</p><p>She grins. “That’s where you’re wrong, there’s more to it then that. The Abyssals thought they created something new, but all they did was alter what was already there. This black blood that courses through our veins is more than just proof of the curse, it’s a direct connection to our predecessors. Their pain and their suffering, but also their virtues and triumphs, all of it is constantly swirling inside of us”</p><p>Sylvain can’t speak or look away, hanging on the edge of her every word.</p><p>“Have you ever had a moment in your life you couldn’t explain?” She questioned, “Where you felt really strongly that something was a bad idea, for no particular reason? The sensation that you’ve done something before, even when you’re sure that’s not the case? A voice in your ear that leaves as soon as it appears, faces in your dreams that you don’t recognize but feel familiar somehow.”</p><p>Thinking back on it, Sylvain can recall more than a few instances of all of these. He nods his head in thoughtful agreement. She continues.</p><p>“That’s our ancestors speaking to us. When a person passes, they leave a piece of themselves behind. I believe all humans are technically capable of accessing this energy, but the Marked are born with a connection. The black blood is the key, it’s what allows us to channel it and perform “magic”. Our magic is an expression of our soul, our blood the connection between this world and the next. If we are the gun, then our blood is the powder.” She proclaims this all so matter-of-factly that he doesn’t question it.</p><p>
  <em>That sounds insane… but somehow I get the feeling she’s telling the truth.</em>
</p><p>“How do you know all of this, is this all stuff you learned from the Western Temple?” Sylvain ponders, trying to make sense of all this new information.</p><p>“No, no, this is the conclusion I’ve come to from my own research. Practically everything I just said would be considered blasphemy by the Order. My refusal to accept their blind faith in a deity and instead looking for a more human answer is what almost got me killed in the first place. That’s a story for another day, though.”  She discloses, a slight nervous sweat on her brow.</p><p>“Wait, then it’s just a theory?” Sylvain exclaims, feeling as though his brain is being pulled in a hundred different directions.</p><p>“A theory only remains a theory if there isn’t enough evidence to support it as a fact. I may not be much use in combat, but in terms of raw magical energy, I’m one of the strongest in all of Fodlan. There was a time I didn’t have much confidence in myself, but Mercie helped me realize my potential.” She blushes and fiddles with her hair, then continues, beaming while forming a victorious fist. “The fact is, ever since I started this path, my magic has become exponentially powerful! What could be better evidence than that?” She smiles proudly, pushing the hair out of her face.</p><p>“I feel a little lost, what does this all have to do with your arm bubbling like a pot of soup over the fire?” Sylvain confesses, wiping some sweat off his brow.</p><p>“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Annette gasps “I get so carried away talking about my work, I don’t know how to stop sometimes.” She scratches the back of her neck, an apologetic look on her face. </p><p>“It’s alright, I think it’s cute that you’re so passionate.” He smirks, cupping his face with his hands and leaning forward on the table with his elbows</p><p>“A-anyways,” She stutters, embarrassed. “One of the simplest ways to expand your control over your powers is to concentrate the curse into a section of your body. You do this by allowing yourself to, well, feel. Drown yourself in your memories, but instead of letting them dominate you, embrace the pain. Over time you’ll be able to channel more and more as you get used to the feeling.”</p><p>She holds up her arm and closes her eyes and once again, her skin glows fiery red, black blood concentrating and pulsing, but this time instead of her entire arm it’s just a portion, starting at the wrist in a strip of flesh.</p><p>“You should be able to fully manifest your powers if you can withstand from your wrist to your elbow. Obviously, I can do my entire arm pretty easily, but if I was pushing myself I could do about half my torso as well.. The rest of the blue lions can do slightly less than that, not because they have a lower pain tolerance but just because they haven’t practiced as much as me! Well, except for Dimitri.” She speaks in her usual upbeat manner despite the subject matter.</p><p>Sylvain could only imagine what sort of inhuman feats the man was capable of.</p><p>“Okay, I think I get it. Thank you Sister Anne.”</p><p>“Don’t forget, this is just step one! Come back to me when you’re ready for step two.” She insists, already shifting her attention away from him to a pile of books.</p><p>“Why would I skip class when I’ve got a total cutie for a teacher?” He jests, giving her a classic Sylvain smile.</p><p>“Your shallow compliments aren’t going to sway me to rush your lessons or skip steps if that’s what you’re trying to do you know.” Annette says bristling, without taking her eyes off the books. “It’s a slow and often tedious process!”</p><p>“Man, I can’t believe I struck out twice today. First Mercedes and then you, what’s the matter with you girls, I refuse to believe you're immune to my charms.” He frets in a playful tone, heading to the door.</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow Sylvain, make sure to rest up. It’s going to be a long day.”</p><p>“Yes Sister.” He sighs, shutting the doors behind him.</p><p>
  <em>I can't help but think there's something she's not telling me.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Blue Lions have their secrets, and Sylvain is no exception. There's a lot going on in the shadows of this war torn land that even someone as knowledgeable as Annette knows nothing of. The horn of battle has been blown, but just what is a Forlorn? You'll find out next chapter. </p><p>If you like this fanfic and you want to stay updated, please consider following/checking out my <a href="https://manaketefirestone.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>. I post updates about my writing, artwork, and potential future projects. Please feel free to make comments, suggestions, or share your thoughts!</p><p>Thank you for reading!<br/>-Manakete 🐉🔥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>